Because of Stiles
by MaggsAM
Summary: She picked up on the first ring. One moment she had been dreaming, the next her phone was in her hand and she was breathing in short bursts out her nose. She just knew, somehow. And as soon as Scott's voice filled the other line, she felt the pit of dread bloom in her hollow stomach. "Lydia? Lydia it's Scott. Listen...you need to come home. It's-it's Stiles."
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Stydia 4 lyfe y'all. Hope you all enjoy! I love Teen Wolf, and I love getting feedback even more. ;)**

* * *

She picked up on the first ring.

One moment she had been dreaming, the next her phone was in her hand and she was breathing in short bursts out her nose. She just knew, somehow. And as soon as Scott's voice filled the other line, she felt the pit of dread bloom in her hollow stomach.

"Lydia? Lydia it's Scott. Listen...you need to come home. It's-it's Stiles."

She looked over at the clock on her nightstand, blaring a red 2:47 AM into the darkness of her bedroom.

"I'll catch the next flight." She murmured, and Scott breathed a thank you before she hung up.

Swiftly, she swung her bare legs out of bed, and turned on her bedside table lamp. A voice groaned from the mountain of silk bedding.

"Babe? What's going on?"

"I have to go home." She spoke, primly pulling a large suitcase out of her closet.

A naked man propped himself up on his elbows, looking at her with bleary eyes.

"Now?"

"Yes now." She snapped, as she threw in several pairs of Louboutin's and Christian Lacroix.

"And where is home, exactly?" He asked in a husky voice.

"Beacon Hills, California."

"That's right. Your accent is so good, I forgot you were American." He rubbed a hand over his face.

"_Merci_." She smirked. "Listen Louis, I hate to have you hit the road at 3 AM, but you know how it is darling." She said swiftly, as she pranced around the room, tossing brightly colored garments into her bag on the floor.

"My name is Daniel." He muttered.

"Of course it is darling." She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "_Au revoir, _my love. See you when I return."

He climbed out of her bed, pulling the sheets up to barely cover his lower half, and sauntered behind her, arms snaking around her waist.

"And when will that be, Lydia?" He whispered in her ear.

Truthfully, she had no idea if or when she would ever return to Paris. That all depended on one thing, one person. Last time she left Beacon Hills, she promised to herself she would never return. But the years had passed, and she felt the slow burn to return. Sometimes she would wake up to it, covering her lungs and making it hard to breathe. Sometimes, she would see their faces on the train. Whenever a dog barked, she still jumped.

And sometimes, late at night...when she had too much to drink, and was completely alone for once...she would put her palm over her heart and listen to it pound. And she would allow herself to think of him then, but only for a moment.

Lydia quickly cleared her throat.

"Not sure but I'll let you know, Louis." She kissed his cheek, handed him his clothes, and ushered him out of the door.

"It's Daniel!" He huffed, before the door was slammed in his face.

* * *

"Excuse me? Mimosa, and a vodka. On the rocks." Lydia instructed the flight attendant, before settling into the plush first-class airplane seat.

"Nervous flyer, dearie?" A white haired woman crooned from across the aisle.

Lydia gave a brief, tight-lipped smile in response. Flying was nothing compared to the real terrors she had been through in her life. The truth was, it was returning to Beacon Hills which gave her anxiety. She couldn't help the nagging sensation of dread that was pulling at her heart. She tried to squash it with the Bloody Mary that was already in her shaking hand. Hopefully she would be successfully inebriated by the time she landed in LAX, at least enough to take the edge off seeing Stiles again.

_Stiles._

She tossed the rest of her drink back.

* * *

Thirty minutes before the landing, Scott called.

"Hey, just wanted you to know that we're here, -_And we can't wait to see you_!" She heard Allison shout in the background, and for the first time since 3 AM, she cracked a smile.

"I can't wait to see you both."

"We love you, Lydia. We'll get through this. All of us."

* * *

Allison flung her body into Lydia's arms. Lydia could feel her shaking, and tried to ignore the fact that it was because she was silently crying.

"I'm so glad you're here! It's been how long?"

"Almost four years." She answered, willing her own voice not to shake.

"I can't believe I haven't seen you in four years. Let me take a look at you." She drew back, and cupped Lydia's face in her hands.

"You're even more beautiful than when I last saw you! How is that possible?!" Allison laughed, her eyes still watery.

"I could say the same for you!" Lydia laughed.

Allison's hair had remained the same since high school, but long gone were the high school frocks. She dressed like a woman now. And Lydia noticed with a shock that she held a hand under a slightly protruding belly.

"Surprise!" Scott smiled, and gave Lydia a one armed hug and a kiss on the forehead.

"You? You're having a..a-"

"Baby!" They exclaimed together.

"Come on," Scott smiled, picking up her luggage. "We'll explain in the car!"

* * *

The drive from LAX to Beacon Hills was a couple of hours, so they filled the time by playing catch up as Lydia watched the forrest reserves blur by.

After high school graduation, the pack had all went their separate ways. Lydia had flown to England to attend Oxford University, and was currently working on her Doctorate in Paris. Scott had gone to a local community college to major in physical education, while Allison attended UCLA to study history, with an emphasis in folklore.

"So Allison and I just graduated, and we only found out she was pregnant like, two weeks ago."

"I thought it was the terrible college diet!" Allison laughed. And Lydia laughed along with her.

"Still can't believe you're going to be Dr. Martin soon. Lydia, you're only twenty-one. That's insane. We're all so proud of you." Allison said, reaching behind her to clasp Lydia's hand.

"That's nothing compared to the journey you two are about to have." Lydia said, squeezing her hand. "Tell me everything!"

"Well, we were visiting each other back and forth, and you know. It just kind of happened."

"It was a surprise," Scott explained, "But we couldn't be more thrilled. We just told my mom and her dad the other day, and we're all pretty psyched."

"And I know why you're glancing at my left hand." Allison smirked at her. "Baby first, ring second. We just want to have one thing at a time on our plate."

"Well I couldn't be more happy, for both of you." Lydia smiled so hard she cracked her jaw.

It was incredible, seeing her friends growth all at once. Scott had gotten even taller, and if it was possible, filled out even more. He smiled just as frequently as he did when she knew him in high school, but she did notice how they didn't quite reach his eyes.

She knew the reason why.

"So we're all living in the same apartment building. Scott and I have our own flat, and then Derek is above us, with the rest of the pack. And Stiles and Malia are living below us." Scott said casually, and Allison gave him a swift jab in the ribs.

"Oh-uh, sorry." Scott muttered sheepishly, throwing Lydia an apologetic look.

"For what?" Lydia laughed, and she felt it echo all the way down her hollow cavern of a chest.

"Nothing. We just know that it can be a bit difficult to talk about Stiles for you." Allison said sympathetically.

"It's not." Lydia waved her hand. "That was _years_ ago. We'll always be good friends."

"Well, I suppose now is as good of a time as any. You know he's the reason we called you here." Allison said.

"After we all graduated, Malia still wasn't warming up to school. So she dropped out, but is currently working on her GED. Which, you know, is _progress_." Scott chuckled, and Lydia smirked, remembering that word frequenting any and all conversations about Malia.

"And Stiles," Scott continued, "got scholarships like, everywhere. He's so damn clever."

"Brilliant, really." Allison interjected.

"He always wanted to be a Beacon Hills sheriff or detective, like his dad. But he was getting all these amazing opportunities to go anywhere and study law enforcement. So he was at Columbia for a bit, but then, uh…" Scott trailed off.

"Lydia," Allison turned to her in the back seat. "Do you know why we need your help?"

She almost couldn't bring herself to say it, but it slipped out of her mouth before she could have the chance to process it.

"Frontotemporal Dementia." She whispered, and Allison and Scott gave each other a look.

"It's what his mom died from, and it's showing up even earlier in him than her's did. Last time he had an MRI was when we were in high school, and he was possessed by the Nogitsune. We initially thought the symptoms were side effects of the possession. So we stupidly dismissed them." Scott shook his head.

"But then," Allison interrupted, "we began receiving strange phone calls from him. He would be talking about school, and then he would say things that wouldn't make sense. I just brushed it off, thinking it was long-distance miscommunication. Then he sent Scott a letter in the mail."

"His handwriting was terrible. You know how it's usually pretty decent? Meticulous even? Well this looked like a six year old wrote it. Total chicken scratch. I'm surprised the post office could even read the address. I could barely understand his handwriting." Scott explained. "And when he came home for the holidays this past year, he looked really terrible. Like he did when he was possessed by the Nogitsune. Pale, dark circles. He could barely hold a fork without shaking. We thought school was just exhausting for him."

"That was until," Allison spoke, "he went back to New York, and was supposed to fly home for Easter. But he didn't. He didn't come home at all. They...someone found him face down in an alley. He couldn't even tell them who he was."

Lydia fought the urge to clamp her hands over her ears. It was all so horrible, and yet, she understood completely and expectantly, as if she had heard it all before. But now all of her dread and suspicions were confirmed. Stiles was in danger. And this time it wasn't from the Benefactor, or a demon spirit, or even the supernatural at all. It was from himself.

"Look," Scott sighed. "When we all went to Beacon Hills, we were battling the supernatural every day. Since we've left, everything has gotten better. I'm not sure if we were the ones attracting all that trouble, but these past few years when something came up, Derek and his pack handled it. And it's been working. Beacon Hills has its bumps, but it was nothing near as bad as when we were in high school. I know we're asking a lot of you, but we might have to go back to the way it was. We may have to contact some old enemies. We may have to search for improbable cures. We may have to put our lives in danger again. And we need your help." Scott pleaded. "We need your help because I promised Stiles that I would do everything I could to save him. But no one, not even me, would probably be as beneficial to finding the cure as you are. We need you."

Lydia paused, collecting a breath. She knew what this meant. She knew the prices and the consequences, and she knew what would happen if she said yes. But still, she replied without a shred of hesitation.

"You have me."


	2. Chapter 2

Beacon Hills was just as she remembered. Small town, trees everywhere, and the unshakable feeling of loss. The only faces she cared about now were those who protected her in high school, and who she had protected in return. Her mother sold the house after Lydia graduated and moved in with a wealthy businessman. She was currently somewhere on a beach in Costa Rica. Lydia liked to think of her with a margarita in one hand, swathed in diamonds, while she was being fanned with a giant palm by a hot cabana boy. She would smile to herself whenever the image came up in her mind.

Other than her family's own personal development, and the development in her friend's lives, she was fairly certain nothing about Beacon Hills had changed. It was strange how a little less than four years seemed like both an eternity and yet, nothing at all.

They pulled up to the apartment complex, and Scott quickly hopped out of the car and ran around to Allison's passenger door, helping her down.

"I'm not THAT pregnant." Allison laughed, but it was clear she found it endearing.

Lydia gazed up at the complex, boasting gothic styled architecture.

"It's so...werewolfy." She laughed.

"Totally." Allison smirked. "I swear those were my exact words when we all moved in too."

"Lydia," Scott said, taking her suitcase out of the back seat. "Jesus, did you fill this with bricks?"

"No. Anvils."

"Ha. Ha. Now, you'll be staying in our guest bedroom. Is that alright?"

"It's perfect."

It was better than staying with Derek. Or, heaven forbid, with Malia and Stiles. She could just imagine it now. Malia walking around with no clothes on, Malia burning breakfast. Malia howling as she and Stiles-

"Yes, yes it's perfect." She snapped, desperately wanting to end that train of thought.

"Great." Allison said, swinging an arm around her shoulders.

"Welcome home!"

* * *

She wasn't sure how long she stood in the shower. Maybe if she stayed in long enough, she could completely avoid going to the floor below, where she would find Malia. And Stiles. Stiles-beautiful, spastic, and...sick.

Scott had explained to her that he was taking medication now and going to scheduled doctors visits. He would appear to be pretty well functioning.

"But he's not." He had said. "He's not well functioning. Although, he seems to be doing a little better than lying in an alleyway in New York City."

"And he has Malia." Allison said. "She cares for him, takes him to appointments, cooks for him. But we're there every day, too. Keeping him company, cleaning. Doing whatever needs to be done. So is Derek's pack."

"You're just the missing puzzle piece." Scott smiled, as he put down her luggage in their pretty pale blue spare bedroom, and they left her to freshen up before going downstairs.

_Missing puzzle piece. _She fought the urge to laugh bitterly.

She was more than just a missing puzzle piece. Her relationship with Stiles had once been so much more than that. She begrudgingly reached out to twist the handle and turn the shower off. It seemed as if this reunion was unavoidable. Even if it was four years in the making. It wasn't as if she hated Stiles. Oh no, it definitely wasn't hate that was bright, and smoldering in her body. But the way they last left off...their last words...she didn't think she had the strength to see him again.

Steam clouded the bathroom, and she wrapped a towel around herself and wiped off the mirror above the sink.

Had she herself changed much since high school? Her hair was still a romantic shade of red, falling down her back in soft curls. Her long, thick lashes still framed her big green eyes. _Too big_, she thought. Stiles had once called them luminous. Color bloomed on her cheekbones.

Her whole life, people had called her beautiful. Men would stop and watch her, and she often used her looks to manipulate into getting what she wanted. She was called sexy more times than kind or creative or brilliant. No one had seen those facets of her. No one except…

She wanted to jump out of a window.

"This is not going to be easy, Lydia." She spoke to her reflection, and sucked her plush lower lip into her mouth, deep dimples appearing beneath her cheekbones.

What would Stiles say? How would he react to seeing her? How has four years changed him? And how baldy was his frontotemporal dementia? How on earth could she help find a cure? She had been trying to squash her banshee powers since she left Beacon Hills. What if there was nothing she could do?

There were so many times Lydia thought she would lose Stiles for good. So many times that together, they faced death. But he had escaped every time. It seemed cruel that now, when life was just beginning, he might already be facing the end.

* * *

"Ready?" Allison asked, knocking at the door.

"No." She replied glumly.

Her hair was dry, she had put on new clothes and minimal make up, but she didn't think she'd ever be 'ready.'

Allison walked across the room to sit down on the bed, and threw her arm over Lydia's shoulders. She did that a lot, and it gave Lydia comfort every time.

"What are you going to name it?" She asked, softly laying her hand on Allison's bump.

"Not sure. We're still going through a huge book of baby names. Do you have an idea?"

"Stiles and I always liked the name Claudia." She whispered, and for the first time since arriving, tears sprung to her eyes.

"Oh Lydia." Allison hugged her tightly. "It's going to be okay. And he's so excited to see you! He's been talking about today non-stop. He's already called our apartment twice since you've been in the shower."

"He doesn't hate me?"

"How could he?!" Allison laughed. "You're his anchor."

* * *

She let Scott and Allison enter in first, and followed slowly behind.

The apartment looked just like theirs. High ceilings, wooden floors, and minimal decor.

"Hey!" She heard Malia exclaim before she saw her.

Warm arms were thrown over her shoulders and dark blonde hair whipped her face.

"This might sound weird, but I actually, like, missed you!" Malia growled into her shoulder.

But Lydia didn't hear a word. Lydia couldn't even summon the strength to hug her back, because there he was.

Sitting on the couch, eyes locked with hers. He was as beautiful and sad as she remembered. He was wearing dark sweatpants and a tee shirt with a red hoodie. His hair was sticking up at odd frontal angles, also like she remembered. She could see sweat beading on his pale forehead, but he looked present. His red-rimmed eyes weren't clouded. They were focused and practically burning a hole into her own. She found herself holding her breath.

"Hey Malia." She finally said, returning the hug, and looking at her for the first time in years.

It was like she hadn't aged a day. Eternally seventeen.

"How did you get hotter?" She cracked, and Lydia graced her with a tight-lipped smile.

"You know Stiles?" Scott joked awkwardly, gesturing to the couch.

Stiles rose and began to walk toward her. She met him halfway, before being completely engulfed in his embrace.

He was taller than she recalled, and although she could feel his body had filled out with more muscle, the hug lacked strength. He buried his head in her shoulder.

"Lydia." He whispered, and she thought she might faint.

"Hey Stiles."

* * *

He hadn't let go of her hand since they had first embraced. Even now, when they were all eating dinner together, he held it tightly in his own, underneath the table. If Malia noticed, she pretended not to.

She could barely look at him half of the time, but it seemed like he was always looking at her, as if she could disappear at any moment. She supposed this was justified.

"Lydia, can I see you for a moment?" He asked after the meal was finished, and she gave a curt nod.

"Aww fuck do I have to do the dishes again?" Malia whined behind them as he guided her into his bedroom and shut the door.

Large mechanical machines whizzed and beeped by his bedside. She recognized one of them as a sleep apnea machine, and beside it, a tall pole from which iv therapy bags hung. The room was pretty devoid of all warmth and clutter.

"Clean room." She remarked awkwardly, and Stiles scoffed.

"Thanks. I make the bed everyday, but I get a little winded sometimes. So Allison will come down and do laundry or clean up anything off the floor."

He guided her to sit on his bed, and then took her hands into his own.

"Four years." He said, staring into her eyes. She fought to maintain eye contact.

"I'm sorry." She whispered. "It's...it's been hard for me."

"You don't think it hasn't been for me?" He asked, his eyes beginning to swim.

"I try not to think about that." She answered, hanging her head. Of course it was hard for him. It was never easy for Stiles. Never, never, never.

"Look, it's okay. We can get past this. We've always gotten through it before. Let's just...let's just go back to how it was."

"Okay." Lydia agreed, although she was certain they both knew it would never, ever be the same. Maybe they weren't supposed to be how they were when they were teenagers, and everything hurt so badly.

But nothing had changed. Not really. Even though they were older, she still felt as deeply as she did when she was seventeen, and every unsaid word was a raw and open wound.

"I'm so glad you're here." He smiled for the first time.

"Me too." And she smiled back. "How is your dad doing with all of this?"

"Not well." Stiles answered truthfully. "I think he might be drinking a bit again. He's just sad. He has to relive it all over again."

"Not for long." Lydia said, gripping his shoulder. "I'm here. And I'm going to help. We're going to find a cure." She said confidently, faking it for both of their benefit.

He looked over at her with a smirk, knowingly. He always knew.

"Listen Lyd, this isn't going to be a good thing. We're revisiting some old pasts that should remain buried. It has the potential to be really dangerous. And I'm scared. I can't fight, Allison and Scott have a baby on the way, and you'll have the entire weight of the mission on your shoulders. I need your help in convincing Scott to just let it go."

"You know I can't do that. We won't do that." Lydia said fiercely.

"You have to. I don't care anymore. I don't feel well. I see things. I can't sleep." Stiles muttered, resting his head in his hands.

There was a pregnant pause, and Lydia's eyes blurred as she stared unblinkingly at the back of his head.

"There is no shame in dying." He whispered quietly, and that was all it took for Lydia to feel herself shatter into a million irreparable shards.

"There is shame in not even trying." She spat harshly.

How could he talk like that? As if he had nothing to live for? Like if he died, she wouldn't go out of her freaking mind.

"See that's the problem with you. You don't care about being hurt. But you know how I'll feel? I'll be devastated. Death doesn't happen to you, it happens to everyone around you. To all the people left standing at your funeral, trying to figure out how they're going to live the rest of their lives now without you in it." She raged.

Stile's head snapped up.

"A friend said that to me, and it's never left me. I think you could use his words of wisdom." She glared.

"Y-you remembered when I said that?" He stared in disbelief.

"When it comes to you, I remember everything." She said, getting up and walking to the door.

"Why didn't you stay, huh?" Stiles raised his voice, eyes flaring. "Huh? How come you didn't stay after that night?"

She knew this would come up eventually, just not this soon. She had tried for so long to bury that night deep into her subconscious. But here it was. All her flaws and mistakes being unearthed and brushed off, and placed on a shelf to look at for always.

"It doesn't look like it would have changed anything, anyway." She spoke quietly, hand still on the door knob.

"Everything, Lydia!" Stiles yelled, hands pulling and twisting his brown hair in frustration. "It would have changed everything!"

"Do you still sleep with Malia?" She spat suddenly.

The answer to her question was written all over his shocked expression. It was all she needed to find the strength to open the door and slam it behind her.

* * *

**A/N: What do you all think? Bit of a frosty hello ;)**  
**And what happened that night when Lydia left? How will Lydia search for the cure? Will Malia ever find out their history? We shall see my friends...we shall see. xoxo**


	3. Chapter 3

The pain was overwhelming, but even more powerful than her pain was the all-encompassing guilt that flooded her cheeks and sunk her heart to her toes. Stiles...wonderful, sarcastic, dying Stiles. Everything was so wrong, so completely fucked.

She stormed quickly to the front door, and Allison was suddenly beside her, squeezing her shoulder. Her eyes searched Lydia's own, knowingly. But now was not the time, first she had to get out of this apartment.

"Wait!" Malia cried, chasing Lydia to the doorway. "You forgot something. Please, for the love of God, take her."

Lydia grabbed it before she even registered what it was. And then it hit her like a brick wall.

"W-what?" she stammered, blinking the tears and frustration from her vision to focus on the ball of fluff wiggling in her arms.

"It's Prada!" Scott exclaimed, and Lydia's concentration immediately snapped back into the present.

It _was_ Prada. Wiggling, snorting excitedly.

"Oh my God! What?! How…?"

"Your mom didn't want to take her to Costa Rica. She was going to give her to the local shelter, since it was your dog and all."

"And I can see why. That dog is Satan." Malia remarked, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

"I told Stiles no way, but when does he ever listen to what I say anymore?"

Lydia's head shot up. What did Stiles have to do with her childhood Pomeranian?

"When Stiles heard your mom was selling the house and moving, he went over to say goodbye. She told him about Prada and he said he'd hold onto her for you." Allison said, softly.

"It's been four years since my mom moved." she whispered back.

"Longest four years of my fucking life." Malia groaned.

Lydia didn't know what was worst. That her mom tried to give away her dog without letting her know, or that she wasn't surprised that Stiles took her at all. This was totally something that Stiles would do. Hold onto a dog that wasn't his just because he knew how much it meant to her.

"I-I need to lie down." she said, running a hand across her forehead.

"Yeah, yeah of course." Allison murmured, turning her to head out the door.

Lydia threw one last look over her shoulder, and saw him slumped on his bedroom door frame, watching. Always, always watching.

She couldn't look at him for another moment.

* * *

"Pretty exhausting day, huh?" Allison asked, sitting across from her on the bed.

They were both in pajamas, Allison's hair wet and fresh from the shower. A pint of Ben and Jerry's sat between them, with two spoons jutting out of the creamy surface.

Exhausting was one word for it.

"I'm so, so glad you're here, Lyd. We all are."

"It feels really good to be here." She smiled, taking a particularly large chunk of ice cream out of the cardboard container.

"So...are we going to talk about the elephant in the room or what?"

"What elephant?" Lydia asked, bringing her hand up over her eyebrows and pretending to search the guest bedroom.

She had known they would discuss this eventually, and secretly she was dying for someone to talk to about it. She didn't have any friends in Europe. Girls were envious of her, and the men she slept with were temporary at best. The only person she ever could confide in was in the apartment below, probably sleeping peacefully in the arms of someone he loved.

She suddenly felt like she would puke.

"Come on, it's me." Allison said sympathetically, patting her knee.

"What would you like to know? The fact that I lost the only person who ever truly understood and accepted me? Or that I drove him to it?"

"We all know you didn't 'drive him to it,' Lydia. What happened graduation night, it was shit. It was. But no one blames you for anything. And I'm pretty sure it's still a secret."

"Malia still doesn't know?" she questioned, chewing her bottom lip.

"Malia isn't an idiot, but you know how she is. She can be a little...indifferent...when it comes to things that don't directly affect her."

"So the fact that I slept with her boyfriend didn't 'directly affect' her?" Lydia grumbled self loathingly.

Allison just gave her a noncommittal shrug, and said, "Pass the Chunky Monkey."

* * *

_Lydia remembered every detail, down to the dress she was wearing, and the shade of her nail polish, Lilacism. She remembered what he was wearing too, a button down in a shade of blue that brought out his amber eyes. And she remembered the taste of the beer as she took a last swig for courage. Her parties were known for being Beacon Hill's epic blowouts, and this graduation party was the last party she would throw. Her swan song._

_The music pounded, and she felt the heat of bodies jostling against her. Grinding and laughing and drinking. They had just graduated hours ago, and after family dinners and lots of cap and gown photos, the senior class had all gathered together one last time. And it was a rager. Lights flashed, cheers from a beer pong win carried over the thudding of a bass line, and darkness allowed them to lose their inhibitions. Someone came up behind her and touched her hips, snaking their way slowly to squeeze her breasts. She let it happen, but only briefly, before swatting the hand away, not bothering to look behind her and see who it was._

_She only had eyes for one person tonight._

_People were pushing, she felt herself begin to sweat from the body heat, but still she looked and looked. He was probably gone. Probably no where to be found. She could just picture him in some corner by himself, picking up random household items to inspect them. Or drumming his constantly moving fingers on the balcony of the back porch._

_Hands touched her once more, and she finally decided to give in and just enjoy the moment. The crowd swelled, and she began to feel dizzy._

_How long had it been that she'd been dancing? She was certain that four different men had been dancing with her at one point. She was being touched and gawked at and it all felt good. This was her party, after all, and she was enjoying herself. Lydia Martin, queen bee forever. But still, something felt missing._

_Suddenly, someone was being pushed off her, and then new hands were placed on her hips, and her hair was being brushed over one shoulder._

_"Lydia." he whispered into her neck, and she pushed back on him and felt his groan travel down her spine. He had found her._

_She turned to face him, throwing her arms over his neck. He was clearly as drunk as she was, hair disheveled and eyes both piercing and sleepy. She cupped her hand to his cheek, and drew her thumb over his lips._

_"I've been trying to find you all night." she slurred, and he grinned._

_"I know."_

_Of course he knew._

_They danced for what seemed like both minutes and hours. Slow songs where they rested their foreheads against each other. Fast songs where he spun her around to grip her hips, and push his pelvis into her backside. Sometimes they laughed, sometimes they moaned, but always, they were introspective. Absorbing everything they could about each other, not wanting any moment to go to waste._

_"Remember when we danced at formal?" he breathed into her ear._

_Of course she remembered. She remembered feeling prickly and disappointed that she was not attending with Jackson._

_'Oh if only.' She thought. If only she knew at that time, that Jackson was only a fraction of the man that Stiles was. And then there was the traumatizing moment when Peter had tried to turn her into a werewolf, but she preferred to keep that part of the night dead and buried._

_"I was a bitch." she groaned, turning her head to his face._

_"Yeah!" he laughed, and she couldn't help but throw her head back and laugh with him._

_"I'm really glad we're dancing now." He smiled sleepily, and she turned to throw her arms over his shoulders and rest her head on his shoulder._

_"Let's get out of here." she murmured, and wasn't surprised when he nodded in agreement._

* * *

When she rang Sheriff Stalinski's doorbell, she wasn't surprised he didn't answer it. She was preparing to find the worst. She pushed the lit button once more. Finally, the doorknob turned and there he was, standing in a wrinkled uniform with five o'clock shadow, red-rimmed eyes, and smelling of whiskey.

"Lydia?!" he exclaimed, with equal parts apprehension and excitement.

"Howdy, Sheriff." she smiled, and threw her arms over his broad shoulders.

"Care for some breakfast?" she winked, shaking a paper bag in one hand, and a venti dark roast coffee in the other. He was putty in her hands.

* * *

"I can't believe you still remember I take my coffee black." he laughed, turning the cup in his palms. "It's been a while, huh?"

"Mmhmm." she nodded, "four years, to be exact."

"Does, uh..does Stiles know you're here?"

"Well, I am staying in the apartment right above his!" she laughed in attempt to hid the sting.

"Oh great. How, uh, is he, um, doing?" Sheriff questioned, scratching his scalp anxiously.

Lydia turned to look out the kitchen window. Everything was like she remembered. Same furniture, paint. Same plaid armchair that the Sheriff sat in every night before bed. Same sunny windows.

The only thing that wasn't the same was now he was alone in the house. And maybe soon, he would be alone in the world.

"Oh he's great. In great spirits, eating like a horse, taking nightly walks after dinner."

Okay so she had made those last two things up, but the Sheriff probably needed to hear them more than they needed to be true.

"Come over with me. I'll drive." Lydia offered. She already knew what his answer would be.

"Oh no, I couldn't. I've got a lot to do today at the office. I should actually go and get ready." he stood, and paused halfway through the kitchen doorway.

"Feel free to hang around, or you know. Stiles' room is open." he finished, and she suddenly understood he knew so much more about her than she assumed he did. Her eyes prickled uncomfortably, and she looked down, still trying to sound chipper as she thanked him.

* * *

His room was exactly the same, just like the house. However, she realized with a start that no one had entered since he left. His books spilled about, his bed was unmade, and he still had some clothes on the floor. The air felt so, so heavy. She wasn't sure if it was her Banshee senses giving her vibes, or it was just the way a house feels inside when someone's heart breaks endlessly over and over again. She lifted her foot to take a step inside, but never put it down.

This was a sacred place, a secret place. And it needed to be left alone to grieve.

She closed the door.

...

On her way out, she stopped back into the kitchen, opening every cabinet. She found them under the sink. She debated pouring them all down the drain, or watering them down. But both options felt wrong. So instead she took some post it notes out of her purse and wrote a message, placing them on each bottle.

She hoped they would do the trick.

* * *

It was only 8 am when she returned to the apartment complex. She was still acclimating back to the American time schedule, and found Allison and Scott bleary eyed at their kitchen table.

"Wow, you're up early!" Scott smiled, "Where'dya go?"

"The Stilinski house."

Scott and Allison exchanged a look.

"Oh yeah?" Allison asked tentatively.

"Just dropped off breakfast and caught up with the Sheriff. Hopefully he comes over sometime this week."

"Oh Lydia," Allison said sympathetically. "He hasn't been over since Stiles was diagnosed and we all moved here."

Lydia just shrugged.

"I think it's time to go make breakfast." Scott got up, stretching yawning and stretching his arms over his head. He and Allison were still in their pajamas, but Lydia was already dressed and ready for the day.

The three of them made their way to the next floor down. Scott knocked on the door, and slowly turned the doorknob. As soon as he turned it, she was immediately struck with a wave of fear. She quickly sucked in a breath, and as Scott swung the door open, a buzzing noise filled the apartment.

Scott sprung to action, running across the foyer, screaming Stiles' name. So many things seemed to happen at once. Allison following his lead, Malia, slowly rising to her elbows on the living room couch, covered by a blanket and blinking away sleep.

"What's going on?" She groaned.

Lydia didn't feel herself move, but one minute she was frozen in the doorway, the next she was watching Scott perform CPR on Stiles.


	4. Chapter 4

They were happy when she was a child. In the mornings, she would get up early with her mother. Dew would adorn the grass, and the birds were just waking. Together, they would pick plump raspberries from the bushes in their backyard, and would put them into fluffy golden pancake batter to be devoured as breakfast. That was probably Lydia's favorite childhood memory. The three of them, laughing and eating raspberry pancakes. Sucking the sweet maple syrup off of her fingertips. Her parents with hands entwined on the table top. That was their last moment.

He left the next day. Packed up and left without a notice, a reason, a goodbye. There was a period of time where she thought he might have died, but he re-appeared on her thirteenth birthday years later. He stopped in to give her a gift, and apologized for leaving years ago. He promised to visit more often, kissed her forehead and gave her a Cartier diamond bracelet, told her to stop crying so hard, and then left again. Just there one moment, and gone the next. He came back when it was convenient, and left when he was through. Later that night, as a newly thirteen year old, she lost her virginity.

Everything changed when her father left. There was no raspberry picking in the early morning light. Her mother stopped cooking, and started sleeping in past noon. Lydia watched men entering and leaving her mother's bedroom for years. Eventually she understood what that meant, but it never bothered her. She was starting to understand that was the way of life. Use what you can, and discard what weighs you down, before you're the one that is discarded. That is the way of life. Things and people being used until there purpose was served. In biology, humans are classified as consumers. Consuming and consuming while giving nothing in return, until the body rots back into the earth, and another consumer is born. That is the way of life.

And Lydia consumed, and consumed, and consumed.

* * *

"Stiles!" Scott screamed, and struck his face forcefully. "Stiles, please!"

_Pump, pump, pump._ Three chest compressions. He closed off his nose and pushed air into his lungs with his own breath.

He repeated this three times, but Stiles looked just as pale as ever. Scott looked over to Lydia fearfully, tears streaking his cheeks. But she had no urge to scream. Her horror crashed over her in overwhelming waves, but she found herself moving forward to his still body, placing her forehead delicately to Stiles' own.

_**Come back to me, Stiles.**_

"Oh thank God!" Allison shrieked, and then Lydia heard it. Stiles was sucking in breath so hungrily, Lydia could practically feel her own lungs burning.

Scott was openly crying on top of him, Allison had thrown her arms around him, stroking his hair. But he was looking into her eyes, and she was looking into his.

The four of them stayed like that for what seemed like both minutes and hours, until Scott turned to look at Malia, cowering in the doorway.

"Why!" he bellowed fiercely. "How the fuck did this happen?!"

Malia's eyes were red and she was clearly distraught.

"It's all my fault!" she wailed. "I'm so sorry! I was tired, and I forgot to give him his nightly shots and medication. And I didn't hear the machine beeping!"

"Stiles stopped breathing, Malia! Who knows how long he wasn't breathing?! What if we hadn't come in just then?! What if you were sleeping for hours while he was dead?!" Scott screamed, a vein pulsing in his neck. Lydia had never heard him raise his voice like that.

Malia burst into tears, her hands covering her face.

"Scott!" Allison barked, and crossed the room to embrace Malia. "It was an accident. We don't blame you Malia, this is a lot for anyone to take on."

"Get her out of here!" Scott spat, dismissing her presence with a wave of his hand. Allison looked to Lydia, motioning her to follow them with her a jerk of her head.

She turned to look at back at Stiles, his eyes wide and pupils dilated. And without thinking too much about it, she delicately brushed her lips against his, before exiting the room.

* * *

"I'm the worst girlfriend ever. I literally killed my boyfriend!" Malia sniffed. Her hands trembled as she held a steaming mug of chamomile tea. "Never in my life have I heard Scott scream at anyone like that. And to have it be directed to me? I deserve it."

"No, you don't." Lydia shook her head, and moved the blanket more securely over Malia's narrow shoulders.

"That's crazy that you didn't hear the machine beeping. Scary, for both of you!" Allison remarked, rubbing her shoulder. "Why weren't you in bed with him?"

"The machines make whirring noises, and their blinking lights keep me up at night. And... we've, uh...we've been arguing lately." Malia said quietly. Lydia suddenly felt as if she were intruding on a moment she shouldn't be a part of.

"Hey, it's alright." Allison said. "Everyone fights, and shit just happens. No one blames you."

"Scott does." Malia said bitterly.

"Maybe...maybe this is a little too much for you to handle on your own. Maybe Stiles should be in a hospital." Lydia said, although she knew it was fruitless. Stiles would refuse to waste his life away in a hospital. He had always joked that he would rather go deep into the woods and put a bullet in his brain than spend his final days in a hospital bed.

"We could all move down in here." Allison suggested. "Or we could divvy up more chores. Give you less on your plate, so you don't feel as overwhelmed."

Malia paused for a moment to consider, before she let out a shaky breath and hung her head.

"I-I can't do this." she whispered. "It's too much."

Allison and Lydia exchanged a look.

"You just have to, Malia." Allison murmured, her eyes darting to the closed bedroom door to be sure no one would hear.

"You can't abandon him." Lydia whispered fiercely. "He needs you!"

"Does he?!" Malia spat, head shooting up to glare at her. Her eyes drilled a hole into Lydia's own, and she flushed knowing the weight behind those words. Her glare practically screamed, _I know_. _I know everything._

* * *

Scott stuffed another pair of pajama pants into the duffle bag, and then looked over at Stiles, weakly pulling a shirt over his head.

"Almost ready?"

"Yeah." He croaked.

"Stiles, I'm getting the chair."

"God, no! It's bad enough I'm going to the hospital in the first place!" Stiles growled.

"Too bad man. You're really pale, and I don't want to risk anything." Scott stood up, walking to the closet of the bedroom, and pulling out a folded up wheelchair.

"Fuck my life." Stiles groaned.

"Hey, it's a good thing you still have a life!" Scott huffed, and helped Stiles ease down into the chair.

"Go easy on Malia, okay? She tries her best."

"I hate to tell you this, Stiles, but she most certainly does NOT try her best." Scott said, and they held each other's gaze for a moment.

"I don't want you to do this." Stiles whispered. "I don't want any of this. You and Allison should be registering for a baby shower. Malia should be studying for her GED. Lydia shouldn't even be here! She should be eating some fucking croissants right now with a guy named Pierre!" he yelled. Although it was a serious statement, Scott couldn't help his mouth from lifting at the corner at the 'fucking croissants' comment.

"Too damn bad, man. We love you too much to let you go." And that was the end of it.

* * *

It was painful to see Stiles being wheeled out of the bedroom by Scott. He was clearly embarrassed about it. His pajama pants were still on, and he was in a sweatshirt, with a beanie pulled over his lowered head.

"Take this." Scott said frostily to Malia, handing her a duffle bag of Stiles' clothing and medication. She took it wordlessly. Stiles had not looked at Malia once since being 'revived,' and she didn't look at him either.

Together, the five of them left the apartment and made their way to Beacon Hills General Hospital.

* * *

Stiles looked much better when he was pumped full of drugs. Melissa McCall stroked his burning forehead with weepy eyes. It was a painful sight to look at, and Lydia could only bare to be in the same room for minutes at a time. Stiles had been emitted right away, and they practically had to beg a hysterical Melissa not to tell Sheriff. In the end, it had been Lydia to convince her. The Sheriff will would visit Stiles, but only if and when Stiles seemed to be getting better. This news would only push him further into his grief, and further from his son.

"But he isn't going to get better." Melissa had said. "His disease is degenerative."

They all just pretended they didn't hear her.

It had occurred to Lydia that perhaps Stiles' disease was preventing love from growing between two people in more places than one. Melissa and the Sheriff were often the subject of gossip in the group, and they were not so secretly shipped by the community. Lydia didn't know when the last time they spoke to each other was. She felt as if it were inappropriate to ask. Just like Stiles' untouched bedroom, some open wounds were better left alone.

* * *

"Want another chocolate pudding?" Malia asked, spooning the last of the pudding and bringing it to Stiles' mouth.

"Pudding for my pudding." Stiles slurred, his eyes glazed over. Lydia held back the need to dry heave.

Sure Stiles was drugged out of his mind, but if they started calling each other nicknames, she was out.

Malia was trying very hard to make up for her absent mindedness by being extra attentive to his needs, 'absent mindedness' being the most generous statement Lydia could think of. The words deadly and moronic came to mind, but she mentally swallowed the thought like a bitter pill.

"So we'll keep him here overnight to check his vitals and you know, just to be safe." Melissa read off his chart, informing the group.

"Someone should let Derek know what happened." Scott suggested, looking at Allison, who took the initiative and exited the room to make a call.

"Scott." Melissa said once the door had closed. "Please, please reconsider. You can't handle this. You have too much on your plate. You need to let the hospital look after Stiles." she pleaded.

"Mom, you know I can't." Scott strained. "Trust me, I want to. But I have to respect his wishes. I have to put his wants before my own."

"I'm here now." Lydia spoke up, and they all turned to look at her.

"I mean, if anyone is the most equipped to take care of him, other than a hospital, it's me." She said, fluffing her hair behind her shoulder. She hoped her high school, unceremonious attitude would provide some normality to the situation.

"Whoa Lydia you're fifteen." Stiles blinked blankly.

"No Stiles, she's twenty-one." Malia said, patting his shoulder.

"I'm fifteen."

"No, you're twenty-one too."

"I'm fifteen and I will die if I don't marry Lydia Martin." he groaned, throwing his hands over his face. "Scott, can you talk to Lydia for me?"

Lydia's heart froze in her chest, and the room became as silent as a graveyard. Malia's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

After a beat of the most uncomfortable silence in Lydia's life, Scott started to snicker, and then it became a full bellied laugh. Tears sprung to his eyes, and he actually slapped his knee. Lydia started laughing at his absurdity, and then at the silliness of the situation. Melissa even joined in. Soon they were roaring and hooting and Lydia's belly started to ache. But when Malia rose from the bed and stormed out of the room, it became as silent as a graveyard again.

* * *

Chinese food spread out over Derek's coffee table, and Lydia watched in amusement as Allison used her chopsticks to defend the last of the mu shu pork from Scotts greedy fingers.

"So." he laughed, after failing to acquire the pork, "where do we start?"

"I think we know the answer to that question, unfortunately." Derek sighed, and looked at Lydia.

"Peter." She said, rolling her eyes. She would dread having to go back to Eichen House, but perhaps he would be completely bonkers after being confined there for a few years, she thought hopefully.

"Who else could be of any help?" Allison asked.

Malia brought a hand to her mouth and called out, "Yoohoo! Anyone know how to cure advanced frontal temporal dementia by supernatural means? Anyone?"

"Ha. Ha." Allison elbowed her with a smile.

"Maybe there is something in the Bestiary? And we should contact Kira's mom, as the Nogitsune mimicked the symptoms of the disease. Maybe she'll have information." Allison suggested, and Derek nodded in approval.

"And maybe…" Allison started, but trailed off.

"What?" Lydia asked, but she already knew the answer. Maybe she could find something using her Banshee senses.

It had been years since Lydia had purposefully tapped into her powers. She envisioned her abilities like a muscle. If it didn't get exercise, it would weaken. Maybe even shrivel up completely. She didn't want to let anyone down, but she doubted if she could be of any help apart from the only muscle she consistently used, her brain.

"I don't know." Lydia sighed, rubbing her temples. "I've been trying to suppress being a banshee for years."

"No better time to let that freak flag fly than in Beacon Hills." Derek suggested, taking a slug of his beer.

"I'll try my best, but I can't guarantee anything. I'm probably going to be useless."

"That's nonsense." Allison said, wrapping herself into her sweatshirt. "Stiles was gone when Scott performed CPR. And when you put your forehead to his, he was back."

It grew very quiet, as the group looked at her, as if she were a specimen in a petri dish under a microscope. Everyone held her gaze except Malia, who closed her eyes and took a big gulp of beer.

"You did? He did?" Derek asked quietly.

"No." Lydia said. "That wasn't me. It was coincidence, science."

"There are still so many things we don't know about this world, and about ourselves." Scott said, placing his hand over her own. "I already feel safer with you here."

She smiled graciously. She felt the same way with them. Now that she was back in Beacon Hills, it did feel as if she had reconnected to a part of her she was missing. Her pack.

But deep down, she knew the truth. That feeling of safety and security was bound to run out. It wouldn't last for any of them.

* * *

**A/N: Man, season 4 sucked ass. Just terrible. **


	5. Chapter 5

"Still like cherry danishes, right?" Lydia asked, holding up the paper bag.

"Oh my God, you are a life saver." Stiles groaned from the hospital bed. He reached his arms out, hands grabbing at thin air in the direction of the still warm pastry.

Lydia smiled and made her way to the chair next to his bed. He looked much better this morning. His eyes were still a little groggy, but the color was back in his lips, and he wasn't drugged out of his mind, babbling nonsense. It was almost as if she could fool herself into believing he hadn't had a brush with death just the other day. Almost.

"Where is everybody?" Stiles inquired through a mouthful of food.

"Still sleeping. I know you get up early so I thought I'd beat them to it and give you some company. Plus I wanted to give you a non-hospital breakfast."

"And for that, I am eternally grateful." he laughed, squeezing her hand.

She felt like her heart had fallen out of her body.

"Anyway," she sniffed, "we're all pretty eager to get you home."

Stiles paused a moment, and Lydia watched the muscle in his jaw clench and unclench.

"I don't know what to do." he murmured, scratching the scruff of his chin. Lydia watched intently, waiting for what he would say next, although she already knew what he would say.

"I don't think Malia can handle this. I know she's not alone, and Scott and Allison, even Derek help out. But like...she needs even more help. You know? She has to watch me go crazier with each passing day. And she doesn't sleep in my room anymore. She says the machines keep her awake but I'm not so sure…." he slowly trailed off, avoiding Lydia's gaze.

"Well," she started, "I'm here, and so that's another person that can ease her work load, you know? And just the other day, we all sat down and tried to re-organize the responsibilities. So she has less on her plate already."

"I just wish someone would take me out into the woods and put a bullet in my brain."

This time he did look at her, and she stared back. Here he was, all six feet of him. All bumbling, brilliant, once-hyperactive Stiles. The Stiles she had known for years. The Stiles who had saved her life over and over in more ways than one, and whom she had returned the favor. The silence stretched on, until Lydia finally said, "That's the dumbest fucking thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth."

Stiles threw his head back and bellowed a laugh. After that, the conversation was a lot more jovial.

* * *

"The antidepressants are in the red pill box, and the antipsychotics are in the blue. I keep the Lexapro separated in the yellow box, and the green box is sleep aids." Malia shook the green box, and placed it back into the medicine cabinet. Lydia resisted the urge to correct Malia's organizational methods, and nodded instead. It wasn't as though his drugs were unorganized, but Lydia was unsurprised that Malia had occasionally forgotten his medicine, or gave the wrong doses from time to time. She made a mental note to come back to the cabinet and organize it later. Malia had shown her the ins and outs of Stiles' daily care, and Lydia had to admit, even for her, it was a lot to remember. There were certain buttons that needed to be pushed at specific times of the day. Certain beeping noises that meant certain things. Specific meals and drinks that would boost his memory and mood, and specific drugs that are to be taken in a very specific way at a very specific time. Lydia was most nervous for him at night, when she would have to hook him up to an IV, and put on his sleep apnea headpiece. She was nervous that he would stop breathing in the middle of the night, and this time, by some stroke of sheer luck, they wouldn't walk in early enough to discover him. She was worried that one day he would wake up and forget her name. Worried for the day where he would eventually become mute and bedridden, and then, eventually, disappear entirely.

"Malia," she said, placing her hand on her friend's shoulder, "I'm really sorry that you had to do this. Had to, you know...go through this."

Malia looked at her for a moment before shrugging and closing the door to the medicine cabinet.

"It is what it is, I suppose." she said, tossing her dark blonde curls behind her shoulder. "No sense in getting worked up over what can't be changed."

"But maybe it can be changed." Lydia said, before she registered her own words. Did she really believe that? Where they really going to find some way to heal Stiles' mind? And if they did find a cure, at what cost?

Malia just smirked.

"Come on. I'm an idiot but not a fool." she sneered, turning to exit the room. "I give him four months, if that."

Malia's stinging words hung in the air, and Lydia let them seep into her skin and burn like acid.

* * *

That night, she poured over the Bestiary. Some was in archaic Latin. Some was in Greek. Some in Sanskrit. But most she had translated herself. Somewhere, somehow, there had to be a cure. Lydia had realized she didn't agree with Malia's cynicism. Stiles couldn't have four months to live. There was no way he was dying. She tried to brush away the nagging idea it was her own emotions, rather than logic, that was telling her that. There was just no way. She couldn't even imagine a world without Stiles. It was a world that she did not want to be apart of.


End file.
